To Bed a Beaty

“Yes, I know. Lord Danvers has long been an acquaintance of my son’s. Are you accomplished, Miss Loring?”

“Fairly so. I sing and play the pianoforte well. I am proficient at needlepoint and watercolors. I am fluent in French and know a smattering of Italian. Oh, and I read and speak Latin.”

“Latin?” Her tone implied disdain. “Then you have at least one thing in common with Arden.”

“Yes, we can enjoy the same books. I consider that a chief qualification for matrimonial bliss, don’t you, your grace?”

The duchess’s mouth tightened, but Roslyn returned her icy gaze evenly. She fully comprehended the noblewoman’s goal in grilling her. The duchess was trying to intimidate her into calling off the betrothal. But she had no intention of giving her satisfaction by complying.

After a moment, the duchess took another tack. “I understand you also teach at an academy for young ladies. You will of course give that up immediately now that you are betrothed.”

“Regrettably I must disappoint you, your grace. My elder sister plans to continue teaching at our academy, even though she is now a countess, and I intend to do the same if I become a duchess.”

The Duchess of Arden looked angry now. “Do you have any idea, Miss Loring, what obligation you bear if you marry into this family? You have a duty to uphold our consequence.”

“I do indeed,” Roslyn said, keeping her voice light. “After meeting you, your grace, I have an excellent idea of what to expect. But I shall allow your son to be the arbiter of my proper conduct.”

Looking irate and offended, the duchess suddenly turned her attention to Drew, as if dismissing Roslyn from her thoughts altogether. “Your rooms have been prepared, Arden. You may join me in the grand drawing room at half past seven for a glass of sherry. You recall that I keep Town hours and dine at eight.”

“I recall quite clearly, Mother,” Drew said mildly.

“I will expect you to have a word with Mathers. She has been more insolent than usual this week, and she knows I cannot rebuke her.”

“Of course, I will speak with her. I intend to visit her shortly.”

He gave her another brief bow and ushered Roslyn from the room. As they escaped down the corridor, she let out her breath in relief.

Drew looked amused and perhaps a little relieved himself. “You handled that quite well. You more than held your own with the Dragon.”

Roslyn smiled. “She is not so bad, if you like haughty, bloodless sort of people.”

“I don’t,” he said abruptly, curtness returning to his tone. “Come, let me show you the library. I think you will appreciate it.”

“Who is Mathers?” Roslyn asked as he led her to another wing. “And why can’t your mother rebuke her?”

“She was first my nurse, then governess, before I was sent off to Eton.”

“Ah, Eleanor mentioned your old nurse. You brought her here to live at the castle when she became too infirm to care for herself. I take it the duchess doesn’t approve of your generosity?”

Drew grimaced. “No. It is a running battle between us, but so far I have won.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I threatened to make my mother move to the dower house if she couldn’t tolerate living under the same roof as Mathers. But of course she doesn’t want to reside in a place only a tenth the size of this.”

Roslyn laughed softly, and Drew found himself relishing the sweet, musical sound. She seemed to understand his sentiments toward his mother perfectly.

“So what do you think of the Castle?” he asked, pleased that she had emerged unscathed in her verbal parries with the duchess.

“It is very beautiful,” Roslyn said carefully.

“But you don’t like it.”

“It is not particularly…welcoming.”

“You noticed,” Drew said dryly.

“You don’t seem to care for it much.”

“No.”

He’d never liked living here, imprisoned by marble and mahogany. As a home, it was too palatial, too cold, too empty…the coldness due in large part to his mother’s presence, Drew was well aware.

He’d never thought of this as home, either, not since leaving for Eton at age six. And even after inheriting the title, he’d absented himself as much as possible whenever his mother was in residence, only visiting to spend time with his tenants and oversee his home farms, particularly testing and experimenting with the newest agricultural methods.

“Would you like to see the grounds?” Drew asked. “They are much more appealing than the house.”

“Yes, very much.”

“Then I will have mounts saddled for a ride this afternoon.”

“Does your mother reside here most of the year?”

“Except for each Season, which she spends in London. Otherwise she holds court here.”

Roslyn raised an eyebrow. “That must make the Season awkward for you both.”

“Oh, we don’t share the same abode, God forbid. I bought my own town house and gave her the house in Grosvenor Square. She lives her own life, and I live mine. It works much better that way for both of us.”

“I can imagine,” Roslyn murmured. “I begin to see why you don’t want to marry. You worry that your duchess will turn out to resemble your mother.”

Drew shot her a sharp glance before giving her a humorless smile. “How very perceptive you are, darling.”

They had reached the library by now, and Drew stood aside to let her enter. The room dwarfed the one at Danvers Hall, and Roslyn showed proper respect.

“Oh, my,” she said reverently, moving to the nearest shelf to inspect the various titles.

“The collection in my London library is actually much better. And frankly, so is your late step-uncle’s at Danvers Hall. These are only the inferior volumes because I ran out of room at my London house.”

“You call this inferior?” Pulling out a book at random, she opened it. “I can tell that being obscenely wealthy has quite spoiled you.”

He grinned. “Wealth does have its advantages. Now if you will excuse me, sweeting, I want to pay Mathers a visit. She will expect it. I can leave you here or show you to your room so you can change into your riding habit.”

Roslyn looked up from the book. “May I meet her?”

Drew felt surprise, yet he saw no reason to refuse her request. “If you wish. Indeed, she has been eager to meet you since my last visit here when I told her of our betrothal.”

When Roslyn returned her book to the shelf, he led the way upstairs to the fourth-floor servant hall. At the corridor’s end, he knocked softly on a door and opened it when a craggy voice bid entrance.

Immediately his gaze went to the ancient crone who sat in a rocking chair beside the open window, basking in a stream of sunshine as she slowly knitted from a skein of wool yarn. His fondest memories of his early childhood centered around this old woman, and he regretted her pitiful state now-the stooped shoulders, the gnarled hands, the cane resting beside the chair. But it was the cloudy eyes that evidenced her near blindness.

Mathers canted her head, listening intently, then smiled before Drew said a word. “You came.”

“Did you expect anything less?” he asked, shepherding Roslyn into the room.

“Not from you, your grace. But I didn’t know if your bride-to-be would let you out of her sight.”

Drew bent to kiss her age-crinkled cheek and drew Roslyn closer. “Actually my betrothed is here with me. Miss Roslyn Loring, may I introduce you to my former governess, Mrs. Esther Mathers?” Before Roslyn could respond, he added, “Miss Loring asked to meet you, Mathers.”

“Did she?” The old woman sounded pleased.

“Yes, it raised her curiosity when I told her how you bullied and beat me when I was a snip of a boy.”

Mathers gave him a broad, toothless smile. “And did she believe you?”

“You will have to ask her that yourself.”